


hope here needs a humble hand

by mellerbee



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Background Character Death, Blood and Injury, Boston Bruins, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Fae & Fairies, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magic-Users, Mild Sexual Content, Original Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, holy shit that's a whole lotta boys, mentioned Sidney Crosby, mentioned Tyler Seguin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-01 18:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14526540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellerbee/pseuds/mellerbee
Summary: a soldier, his king, and the world that falls into place around them.eventually.*PAUSED*





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> well uh this thing is finally up, shoutout to all the people who put up with (and continue to put up with) my brainstorming for this thing. and of course, alex (blindbatalex) who beta-ed for the original disaster. 
> 
> title from the song black flies by ben howard. highly suggest you give a listen. 
> 
> glossary in end notes :)

The thing about fighting was that it never _stopped_. Not in Brad’s life, at least. It was all he’d ever known. He was a fighter, he had been raised that way, and time and time again people told him he had been born that way. And now, he was a soldier, and that meant it didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon.

 

Before that he was thirteen, a bit more aggressive than most boys his age were, a bit more passionate. He was also the youngest at the elite military school he trained at, a warehouse of future soldiers to supply to the King’s ranks, and his teachers assured it would work to his advantage. The kid was aggressive, but he had been aggressive for a long time. There was control to it. It was easily manifested as power, and he worked at that. Until he could swing a sword to cut a man in half in one blow, pull a bow to shoot an arrow at its target a good few leagues away.

 

Once the prissy noblemen who had scoffed at the scrap of a boy in favor of their sons. Once, they’d seen his rage and said he was better suited for the slaveyards. Once they’d looked at the red at the corners of his eyes and whispered he’d be better off in the forests. Better off where things were wild. Better off where he couldn’t hurt anything. He scoffed back at them, and he grinned.

 

Now they watched him with envied eyes, shushed their sons’ questions in favor of keeping their attention drawn to his training. He felt those eyes on him, and it was better than any spoken praise they could give. If they had spoken to him, he probably wouldn’t have known how to react. Scratch that, he definitely wouldn’t have known. Fighting was where he was comfortable. Fighting was part of him.

 

-

 

 

“Brad!”

 

Steel. _Whack_. Wood. _Whack_. Splinters. Wooden training dummy dented under his sword. The third training dummy he’d gone through today, and it wasn’t even noon. The sword was new, shiny Morth-mined steel, kingdom’s sigil etched into it, heavy and comfortable in his hands.

 

“Marchy!”

 

He swung again, except steel never met wood this time. Just air, and air and air and air---- Fuck. He let the blade clatter to the ground, looking up with a scowl. His training dummy was no longer in front of him, instead pinned to the ground under someone annoyingly insistent’s foot. His scowl deepened. “Mina?”

 

Mina was the only non-human to be taking the King’s oath, remarkably calm for someone doing so. She was beaming at him too, making things much worse. “You stop stress training now,” her accent was familiar, nice, and he relaxed a little upon hearing it. “Ceremony in short time. We get dressed.”

 

Then she was smiling again, and he couldn’t do much except nod his head and follow her out of the Academy. If she noticed his nerves, which she had to have, she didn’t say anything.

 

The barracks trainees stayed in had to have been his least favorite place to ever have stayed. They were crammed just inside the palace walls, built in a rush from the cheapest materials available. That didn’t make for the best atmosphere. Inside was just as bad, bunks stacked three high and in rows with little space between them. Why, he had no idea, not even half of them were filled. Mina said there had once been many more students, when war was in its heat and more soldiers were necessary. Whenever that was it was a fairly long time ago. Most beds hadn’t been occupied in at least a few dozen years.

 

Within the residency, it was significantly more packed than usual. The induction ceremony was a big deal, when students became true soldiers of the crown, and it was treated as such. The noble-born kids’ families crowded into the room with them, helping them into robes with their family symbols and adorning them with heirloom jewelry. He had no parents. He tried to tell himself it didn’t bother him. Though Mina didn’t either, and her earlier infectious energy had fallen. She looked smaller, much smaller now, surrounded by strangers. She had been born to a fae mother and human father, and greatly favored her fae side, however the crown tried to snuff it out. Her family wasn’t there either, hadn’t been flesh and blood for a long time. Since her father, her only protector, had passed to the other side, she’d been raised as a prisoner, a weapon to use and eventually discard.

 

Brad shot her a hopefully reassuring smile, and plunged into the crowd.

 

He reached his bunk, and immediately everything seemed to stop. _What the fuck_. Was all he said at first, mostly to himself.

 

The man, no, the faerie, grinned a sharp-toothed smile. Every muscle in Brad’s body tensed. His years of training weren’t for nothing, and instinct kicked in, studying the being before him. He wasn’t much taller than him, except he carried himself much taller. He was solid, heavily muscled, which Brad didn’t usually associate with fae. His hair was graying, hanging choppily cut around his shoulders. He wore standard human clothes, black trousers and a loose yellow shirt. Not yellow, gold. He could almost have passed for human. Except for the fact his eyes were solid green, and no veins showed under his skin. And, of course, the trademark pointed ears of the forest folk.

 

“I came to wish you luck,” his voice was devoid of any identifying accent. It was slightly unnerving. “Not everyday one’s son becomes a soldier.”

 

 _What the fuck_. Brad said again, this time with a lot more emotion. The fae man just grinned again, and reached out his thumb, and in one motion traced a line from his temple to the tip of his nose. Apparently Brad was an idiot, and therefore make no move to pull away. When the man’s thumb was no longer _on his fucking face_ , he glanced and saw traces of red still there. Red ochre, his mind oh so helpfully supplied. Used by the fae in ceremony to protect their magic. Even while knowing what it meant, he wasn’t quite sure how to react to it being on his face.

 

Or how to react to this man suddenly appearing and calling himself his father. Really, he wasn’t sure how to react to a lot of things.

 

But he didn’t have much time until Mina was exploding into his vision, exclaiming “Marchy! Is almost time to go!”

 

Her eyes went wide at the same time the man seemingly disappeared into thin air. She looked between the spot where he once stood, then to Brad, then closer at the ochre decorating his face. She pointed a finger at it. “What is this?” Her look was accusing. “Bradley, explain.”

 

“I thought I’d accessorize,” he shot back, matter of fact. He scowled at her, and went to wipe it away. His hand hadn’t even reached his face before Mina was speaking again.

 

“Don’t,” they both paused for a brief moment. “Won’t come off till ceremony over.” Now, she just looked very, very tired. “I suppose two nibh will become soldier.”

 

-

 

Two nibh did become soldiers. Over ten years passed, and Brad made a point of remembering that moment he had walked into the circle of dirt with his head held high, proud. He was proud. Pride was what he built himself upon.

 

The king had raised an eyebrow at him as he knelt to accept his title, yet didn’t say a word at the fae marking he had adorned himself with.

 

He was not the best soldier on the field. He would never be. And he accepted that. But he was a fighter, he had been raised that way, and he knew now he had been born that way.


	2. found, or; the beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brad hates boats. he isn't sure quite yet if he hates patrice.
> 
> -
> 
> content warning for description of injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glossary at end, per usual

“Krej, you’re on shore patrols for today. And tomorrow, for that matter.” 

 

On the other side of the room, there was an unmistakable groan. The man in question, David Krejci, captain of the royal guard, somehow managed to sink down further in his chair. He was practically all the way under the table at this point. “Can’t Kurals and his line take it?”

 

There were several chirps from around the table, including “way to speak to your king” and “probably should, salt messes up his hair.” Krejci scowled at everyone, for good measure. 

 

The king grinned at the speakers, still managing to look intimidating while being this familiar. But he clapped his hands together all the same, drawing immediate attention. He wasn’t grinning anymore, but there was a glint of amusement in his bright eyes. “I stick to my decisions. Regular procedure.”

 

The room slowly dispersed in muttered conversation, until only the king sat at the head of the table. Except ― “Adam. Krej. Can I speak to you another moment?” Adam McQuaid walked over to him without hassle at all, the stern set to his face same as ever. Krejci took a second or two longer, clapping guys on the shoulders as he retreated back into the room. When all three were assembled, the seriousness of the king’s expression was enough to bring a dead silence to the room. 

 

Patrice Bergeron was raised to be a king, he knew no other way of life. And it showed. He wore it well, the regality and the weight of the world that came with it. He was raised to rule, to direct, to lead. Whether it was what he was borne into or not, some speculated it would have found a way to happen. It was simply written into who he was. But he was not a figurehead, not a mere puppet for a regent to control. He was a king in the truest sense of the word, battle-worn and frighteningly intelligent in all ways of the land. 

 

He started out carefully. “I’ve heard...rumors.” His hands fidgeted along the edge of the table. He was nervous, visibly so, and finally in a crowd where he didn’t have to hide it. 

 

“Western or Southern?” Adam didn’t look as nervous, instead some mix of confused and annoyed.

 

Patrice shook his head. “Northern,” he didn’t look up at the two men who joined him, instead at his fidgeting hands. “My scouts say they’ve built up their navy. And Charlie was practicing his sight sea-wards, says it was fifteen ships, built for battle, headed for our shores.”

 

“That’s why you set me on shore patrols,” Krejci didn’t look either nervous or annoyed, just calculating. Holding his arm up before him, he traced out a few lines and squiggles on his wrist. He scowled at the marks, before dragging his hand through them, dropping his arm back to his side. He looked back to his king. “We have enough men for a fully land-based attack. But our navy’s useless, we have, what, ten ships functioning after the attack on Tampa? And I wouldn’t risk all those at once if I were a madman.”

 

“No,” Adam looked over to him, just as calculating. “We’d only need three ships, at most. Leave as soon as possible, weaken them while they’re in the deep. Then the men we have could meet them at the shore.” 

 

At the head of the table, the king just shook his head at both of them. They were men, and of course went to leap to their own defenses. Or, their egos’ defenses. “There’s a reason you’re two of my best men,” now both Adam and Krej looked extremely confused. “But I didn’t call you here to ask for help with plans.” Somehow, they managed to look even more confused. “I came to tell you what will be happening.”

 

“Of course, your grace―” Adam bowed his head when he spoke. 

 

“But sir―” Krejci looked him dead in the eye. 

 

“Enough,” Patrice held up a hand to silence them both. “Rask has made use of the, ah, lines of contact he set up. With the work he’s put in, this will be a much simpler battle than it would’ve been in the past.”

 

It was likely the captain of the guard had ever looked more lost than he did now. “Please elaborate?”

 

“He convinced the fae to assist us in battle, in exchange to fall under the crown’s protection,” when Krej moved to speak, he held up his hand to silence him yet again. “I want you both with your men on the shore, when day moves to make night, in case stragglers make it to land.”

 

-

 

Brad Marchand hated boats. He also hated most of the men in his unit, and eating nothing but dried food, but most importantly he hated boats. 

 

-

 

Thinking back to his earlier hatred of boats, Brad thought it seemed rather insignificant in comparison to his hatred of dying. Once, it had been a fear of dying, and that had been a peaceful time. Now he was pretty sure he _was_  dying, and it sucked. 

 

His training told him to take account of his wounds. Take account of the blood loss, seal off the major loss points. But his head was so fuzzy, everything sounded so far away, he wasn’t entirely sure he even had a body anymore. 

 

He might’ve been drowning. He had the slight sensation of being wet, but if he was drowning the ocean seemed so far away. But if it was far away, how was it all he heard? The sound of waves crashing was surrounding him. It filled up his ears and echoed through his skull. The scent of salt was just as overpowering, clogging up his nose, filling his lungs and making it nearly impossible to breathe. It was all far too much to focus on. He just wanted to sleep. Everything was so nice and fuzzy and it would be so good to sleep right now. Why couldn’t he sleep? 

 

Crash. 

 

Maybe the ocean was just too loud for him to sleep. No, that wasn’t right. He liked the ocean. He had always liked the ocean. It reminded him of home ― no, those were footsteps.

 

Footsteps! Footsteps meant people, people meant rescue, rescue meant _not_ - _death_. Except no, that was the furthest thing from true. This far from home, footsteps still meant death, except instead of death from slow decay, it meant death by steel blade. At this point, maybe that was the better option. But there was no room for options, every time he tried to open his eyes the world swam, and there was no possibility for running or fighting. 

 

Instead, Brad let the world sweep over him. Boots crunched the sand around his head, sending shooting pains with every step. Voices - voices too. 

 

“Is he dead?”

 

“No - won’t be long.”

 

“Wonder how he ended up here?” 

 

“Look at his clothes. Red. Bet he’s part of the ships we’re supposed to be looking out for.” 

 

“We should just kill him now. Bergy said to take care of the stragglers.”

 

“We’ll bring him back. Let the king decide.”

 

“You’re insane. That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard from you.” 

 

A laugh, and it felt like nails on a chalkboard. “And he’s heard a lot.” 

 

“Shut the fuck up and help me pick him up, alright?”

 

Brad tried to let out a cry of protest, anything, anything to let them know to just let him die. He didn’t want to face any king. He’d rather die by the hands of the ocean than the enemy. But the sound was lost in his throat as he was lifted off the ground. White danced at the edge of his vision, pain crawling every inch of his body. Then he blacked out. 

 

-

 

When he came back to his senses, it couldn’t have been long since the beach. The moons were still high above, yet his vision was much too blurry to read the stars. Black clouds hovered above him, clogging his view of the sky. No - they came into focus just a bit more, and he could make out faces. There were voices lingering as well, but they were much too soft to discern what they were saying. 

 

One voice cut through the crowd, deep and clear and demanding. It cut right through Brad’s head, the sharpness of the pain drawing a whimper from him. “He was found on the beach?” 

 

Another voice, further away, or perhaps just quieter, answered him. Brad recognized it as the man whose idea it had been to bring him back, and wasn’t sure if he was grateful or if he despised him already. “Where the waves met the sand. Was nearly unconscious.”

 

“We don’t want to make the war worse.” This voice is sharper, grinding and accusing. “Kill him before word gets out. Dump the body in the water, it could’ve easily happened during the battle.” Brad thinks that sounds like a perfectly fine idea. 

 

There’s a few murmurs from what seems to be a small crowd around him, both protest and agreement. Then a sharp ‘no’ cuts through the crowd, the same clear voice as before. Brad lets out a groan of pain, twitching a little on the cobblestone.

 

“Look at his clothes, see the embroidery?” Another round of whispering comes up from the crowd. “A general.” there’s a bit of humor in the voice. “He’ll prove useful. We keep him alive, under my protection.” 

 

Not one bit of Brad’s mind likes the sound of that. He tries to speak, curse them out or something, but all that comes out is a cough of blood. Someone laughs. 

 

“I take him to Z, no? Will not recover on own.” this voice is softer, kinder. But he doesn’t have much time to think that over, or hear the reply, before a flash of light and he’s unconscious again. 

 

-

 

“Look, I know you’re used to me going along with your ideas, but this is when I’m gonna have to call an intervention,” just inside the palace walls, Tuukka Rask leaned against the brick, arms crossed. There was an expression of clear disappointment written across his face. “As your advisor―”

 

“As your king-” Bergeron drew out, shooting back a stern glare. “I think I made the right call.” But his pacing told otherwise. Tuukka scowled at him. There was a long pause, their eyes locked together. Until Patrice let out a sharp breath. “He was fae, wasn’t he?”

 

Tuukka nodded, fiddling with his bracelets as he spoke. “Half. pretty repressed, though. You can barely even smell it on him.”

 

Patrice didn’t know what anything he was saying meant, and told him such. The whole ‘taking an enemy general into custody’ thing was starting to sound less and less like a good idea. 

 

Across the hall, what he got in return was an exasperated huff and a roll of eyes. “It means,” Tuukka paused, mostly for dramatic effect. “What the hell are we going to do?”

 

“I have absolutely no idea.” Patrice admitted the truth, then turned and gestured down the hallway before them. “Can we walk?”

 

Tuukka nodded again, taking off without waiting for Patrice to follow. He caught up, scowling at the advisor for his impatience. “You have several options,” he began, footsteps echoing on stone. “And none have a good possible outcome, as far as you’re concerned.” 

 

Patrice raised an eyebrow, as if to say ‘tell me more.’ Tuukka didn’t hesitate in doing so.

 

“You could keep him as a kept pet, which I know you’re opposed to -”

 

He got a glare packed with heat and disgust in return, which even Tuukka had to shiver under. No one had ever liked being on the receiving end of that glare. 

 

“ - but hear me out,” he held up a placating hand as they turned the corner. “The other kings already despise you for being too much of a traditionalist, and a half-nibh boy, especially one who fought for the enemy, is a good way to shut them up. It only has to be legally, though, if you don’t wish to treat him that way. Although,” Tuukka wiggled his eyebrows at the king, who had to stifle a bout of laughter despite their situation. “He’s rather pretty, so I don’t know why you’re so opposed.” 

 

“He’s still a person!” Patrice shot back, anger creeping up on him. “I’m not going to get into the habit of keeping _people_  as possessions. The other kings want me to be my uncle. You know I swore I’d never be him. Or like him.”

 

“I understand, Bergy. I do.” Tuukka’s voice was full of sympathy. “I’m just looking out for you, looking out for the kingdom. I speak as your friend, not just your advisor. _I_  swore I’d look out for your bad ideas, and I’m holding to that.”

 

“I know,” Patrice sounded rather dejected, young, younger than he should allow himself to sound. But Tuukks understood, he’d been there through everything. Patrice was incredibly grateful he was sticking around for a little more. Yet his voice was serious when he spoke again. “What if we grant him refuge? The same as Kit. Yes, there will be objections, but it’s the safest option.”

 

“What if he doesn’t want to stay? Which will absolutely happen.” Tuukka pointed out, waving a hand to solidify his point. “Plus, Kit is here because they pissed off the king of Pittsburgh by nearly killing his husband in a duel and let several of his prisoners go. The boy you’ve decided to keep _is_  the enemy.”

 

“I really fucked myself over this time, didn’t I?” Is all Patrice replied with, glancing over to the other man walking beside him. 

 

“Yep,” Tuukka agrees, but it’s not accusing. He stops walking. “Now go get some sleep, okay? Council meeting in the morning, and something tells me it’s going to last a bit longer than usual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glossary/ocs - 
> 
> Kit - nibh mage from Morth, oc that'll show up a lot here. lines that reference them here are a sorta tie in to matskreider's fic 'there's no place like home.' 
> 
> -
> 
> hmu on tumblr as usual :)

**Author's Note:**

> glossary -
> 
> nibh: a fae sort of race, the name usually only used by those who are nibh themselves. humans usually refer to them as fae/faeries.  
> Academy: training center for the elite soldiers trained in canada, or the equivalent of canada here.  
> Morth: the famed mountains northeast and across the ocean to where the story takes place
> 
> main story will take place years in the future after most of this chapter is set. 
> 
> any questions, feel free to hmu on tumblr - mellerbees


End file.
